Tuesday Night Diary

by andrewcagle

Sitting on the back porch, the night air is cold, still. It chills the nose and numbs the fingers. Not comfortable, but refreshing in the Texas spring.

Three cracks ring out in the distance. Three, four blocks away. Instinctively my mind asks the question I hate: is it construction I heard earlier or gun shots? The stillness returns. Televisions cast a flickering glow on the windows of houses next door. No doors open. The humming of cars floats through the air.

I think of this week a couple millennia ago. Christ came into Jerusalem as king. In a few days, three similar ‘cracks’ would ring out in the air. Three nails violently putting an end to my asking that question one day. One violent death to end all violence, end all death.